


Sing For Me

by Lyra_Dhani



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Harry Needs a Hug, Harry has a dream, Musical theme, Musically gifted Harry, Musically gifted Hermione, Musically gifted Ron, The Golden Trio want to make an idol band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 13:18:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15195599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyra_Dhani/pseuds/Lyra_Dhani
Summary: “What’s that?” Ron asked, pointing at Harry’s notes. Harry, who was in the middle of writing down something quickly closed it and kept it away. It was too late, though. Ron had seen it. “Do you like poems?”“...not poem...” Harry murmured. He looked embrassed. “It’s my song.”“You write song?” Ron asked, the excitement immediately kicking in. “Can I see it?”“I haven’t finished it, though,” Harry’s face was getting redder for every second.“It’s fine,” Ron was practically jumping in his seat. “Let me see it.”





	Sing For Me

**Author's Note:**

> If I am in the mood, there may or may not be a part two

“Dad, what is this?” Ron asked, beaming with curiosity.

“This? This is piano,” Arthur explained, his eyes positively sparkling.

Ron tiptoed around the piano, utterly fascinated.

Arthur played with it, experimenting on it like he always did with the other muggle stuff. The sound was beautiful. Ron never heard something like that before. Like the ringing of a bell. Very soothing and pleasant.

It was at that exact moment that Ronald Weasley fall in love with music.

(Neither his father nor anyone knew that he had unconciously set his destiny apart)

.

.

“Do you want to try it, little Miss?” the old man asked, his hands already offered the guitar.

“Mum said it’s a waste of time.”

The old man was probably got offended by her words, but Mum was right. Hermione was smart, perhaps smarter than any adult. She knew that surrendering herself to the music world would lead her to nowhere. In this path filled wth wonderful melody, the future was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione couldn’t stop the longing, though. Everytime she walked down this street, she would stop by and listened to the old man’s street guitar performance. It was probably the curiosity that lead her there.

“I see,” The old man nodded. He didn’t sound offended at all. Hermione couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. “Can you at least play a song for me once?”

(In another world, Hermione would’ve refused.)

.

.

The music teacher was kind. She didn’t treat Harry any different from another kids. She didn’t thought of Harry as a freak. She didn’t look at him like he was a shame to the humanity.

Harry especially liked her voice. Calming like a lullaby, gentle like the soothing breeze.

And whenever she started singing, Harry felt like the world itself had stopped moving to hear her song.

One day, Harry gathered the never to ask, “How could you do that?”

“Do what?” The music teacher asked back.

“You know,” Harry fidgeted nervously. He still hadn’t gotten used to her attention. People usually ignored him or acted like he was a freak incapable of normal thoughts. “ _That_.”

“I am not sure I know what you mean, Harry,” She smiled kindly. “You have to be specific.”

Harry could feel the blush creeping. He felt stupid. “You make the world stopped.”

“I make the world stopped,” The music teacher repeated, her tone questioning.

“I mean-when you sing-the world stopped-it’s that kind of feeling-and how come it’s always feel like the time moves faster? Like it was over so quickly before I realized it,” he was blabbering, he did notice that, but he couldn’t help it.

(And when the music teacher offered to teach him, instead of just laughing at him, the fate had shifted him to a different path.)

.

.

“What’s that?” Ron asked, pointing at Harry’s notes. Harry, who was in the middle of writing down something quickly closed it and kept it away. It was too late, though. Ron had seen it. “Do you like poems?”

“...not poem...” Harry murmured. He looked embrassed. “It’s my song.”

“You write song?” Ron asked, the excitement immediately kicking in. “Can I see it?”

“I haven’t finished it, though,” Harry’s face was getting redder for every second.

“It’s fine,” Ron was practically jumping in his seat. “Let me see it.”

(They spent the time in the train composing song together and joined by Hermione later, whose original goal was to look for Neville’s toad and had completely forgotten about it.)

.

.

 _What am I doing?_ Hermione wondered. She came here to study magic, not wasting time with music. But it wasn’t like she could avoid Ron and Harry just because Ron had perfect pitch and Harry had the smoothest voice when he sang.

And when Ron excitedly told them that they should compose a lullaby song for the three-headead hell hound, Hermione, who was studying earnestly couldn’t help but craned her neck to see the lullaby song Ron had composed. Harry was totally into the idea.

For the entire night, they practiced singing a lullaby together, which was actually Ron’s version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Harry would add suggestion here and there and Ron would listen seriously and change the notes into something better.

Hermione told herself that she did it for the greater good, for Hogwart’s sake, and not because she liked doing it or something.

(They practiced until morning. Hermione had forgotten the studying part but couldn’t bring herself to regret it.)

.

.

“Look what we have brought for you,” Ron said. He was beaming like a morning star. And Harry couldn’t help but beaming too when he saw what he brought.

Guitar. Ron and Hermione were bringing him a guitar.

Anxiety and resentment that Harry had felt and been building up since he woke up in the infirmary immediately vanished away.

“Where did you guys get it?” He immediately sat up, his hands already itching to play the guitar. “I thought none of you were allowed to bring any musical instrument to the school?”

“Well, what do you think? We transfigured it, of course! Well, more like Hermione did it. She made one for me too. I don’t know how she did it either. She’s just really brilliant.”

Hermione playfully punched Ron’s shoulder. “Come on, Harry, play a song for us.”

Harry heartfully complied. He played his original song, Ron and Hermione singing together with him. The infirmary was supposed to be a quiet place, but Madam Pomfrey didn’t stop them. In fact, she was listening with a peaceful smile in her face.

“Hey, let’s make a music band. The three of us together,” Ron suddenly said.

And Harry really liked the idea. He could imagine it, the three of them still composing a song together ten years in the future. “Let’s do it. Hermione, what do you think?”

Hermione was silent for a while but slowly, she smiled at him and said confidently, “Sure. I can do it with you guys beside me.”

“What should we name it? Give our music band a name that people won’t easily forget!” Ron said, getting so excited like a little child.

They discussed it for the entire evening, with the three of them arguing back and forth about the name of their newly-made music band. In the end, they decided to simply name it _Golden Trio_ as that was what they had always been.

(In that moment, Harry swore that whatever the future had in store for him, he would survive. He had to, if he wanted to see their dream come true.)

.

.

Ron loved summer but this year’s summer was probably the most special one in his life. As soon as Harry came to his house, they spent days playing music.

“Dad liked that I love every muggle instrument he brought,” Ron said to him, explaining the state of his room. His room was small to begin with, but with all the music instrument, there was almost no place to move around. “And I always figured out how to play it. Though, I have to admit, the saxophone was kinda tricky.”

“I know how to play every single one of them,” Harry said, his eyes positively sparkling. They always did whenever music was involved. “My music teacher have all of them and she used to teach me how to play them.”

Ron gestured to the piano. “This is my favorite. Why don’t you play a song for me, Harry?”

“May I?”

(Another day was happily devoted for music that summer.)

.

.

“Hermione, are you having a hard time or something?” Neville asked.

“What made you think like that?” Hermione asked back. Neville was spot-on though. A lot of things had happened. Harry was in infirmary right now, as if it was his second home, (it was all Lockhart’s fault) and Ginny wouldn’t tell her what was bothering her. Hermione was pretty sure it wasn’t just her, though. Everyone was anxious and restless because of the chamber and rumour surrounding the heir of Slytherin.

Hogwart was practically radiating the aura of gloominess.

“The way you played your guitar,”Neville said. “It lacked the usual positive energy.”

Hermione smiled, feeling soft inside. “How could you tell, Neville?”

“I listened to the three of you played a lot. Of course, I can tell,” Neville looked proud. “Ron told me that you guys wanted to make a music band. When that day came, I will be your biggest fan.”

“Thank you, Neville.”

And for that day to come, she had to stop this madness that was lurking around, preying for the innocent souls.

(The dream was far away, but as long as she was with Harry and Ron, she knew she could reach it.)

.

.

“If I can just play music for eternity, I’ll be happy,” Harry said. He felt like the Hat was listening intently, so he continued. “But I can’t just do that, can I?”

Ginny hold his hands. She still looked pale and shaken up, but she was smiling. “Harry, can you sing a song for me?”

And in the ruins of chamber, hugging his knees and tattered up, Harry could have sung for eternity.

(His voice resonated, the phoenix was humming, it was almost like magic.)

.

.

“I can’t sing,” Harry whispered, his eyes widening in horror.

And Ron could feel his desperation, almost as if it was his own. “That’s impossibe, Harry. You’re the best at singing!”

“Harry,” Hermione held Harry’s hands tenderly. “How do you feel right now?”

Harry took a deep breath. “Like I could never be happy ever again.”

“Here, eat this,” the new young teacher said, shoving chocolate to Harry’s mouth. “You’ll feel better.”

And when they got to Hogwart and Harry was able to sing again, Ron felt like something in his chest loosening.

(For the first time ever, Ron found something scarier than the spiders.)

.

.

Hermione found herself unsurprised when the boggart showed Ron’s deepest fear.

“I thought it was spider,” Harry whispered beside her. But, he didn’t sound surprised either.

They stared at the boggart, as it showed a perfect replica of Ron playing his guitar like a child throwing tantrum. The sound it made was uncontrollable and completely not elegent, so different from the music that Ron usually made. It made Hermione felt sick. It was simply unforgivable.

“Make it stop, Ron!” Harry shouted.

And Ron did. He casted it away with trembling fingers.

Harry’s fear was even more unsurprising. Hermione didn’t completely see it, since Professor Lupin quickly stopped him, but she could tell simply from the color.

After what Dementor did to his voice, of course Harry would be terrified of them.

(And Hermione knew her fear. The boggart probably would show her mother doing something to break her dream. And unlike Ron, she was unsure if she could make it disappear.)

.

.

So many things happened this year, but Harry felt like it was a year full of blessing.

“I didn’t know that my father liked playing guitar,” Harry said, hands tightening around the guitar Sirius gave him. “Everyone always told me he was a troublemaker and a great seeker. They never mentioned the guitar.”

“Probably because they didn’t expect him to be a good guitarist,” Hermione said.

“Try it, Harry,” Ron urged him. “Sing a song for us.”

Harry did. He felt as light as feather. Ron and Hermione sang along with him, perfecting the harmony. The students started to gather around them, listening quietly.

(The Dementor was gone and Sirius was free and Harry got a new broom and a new guitar. It was indeed a year full of blessing.)

.

.

“Hey,” Ron said. He waited until Hermione and Harry’s attention were completely on him. “Let’s have fun in the Yule Ball.”

“What?” Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, doubtful. As expected of Hermione. She knew immediately that he was up to no good (again).

But he couldn’t help it. He wanted to make a mess of everything. Harry wasn’t supposed to join the Triwizard Tournament and suffered. Him and Hermione weren’t supposed to be tied in the bottom of the lake, suffocatingly waiting for their closest one to save them.

Ron grinned. “Let’s sabotage the party.”

(He could tell that the aftermath would be one hell of a headache, but he was also pretty sure neither of them would regret it.)

.

.

Hermione didn’t want to admit it, but Ron’s idea was absolutely brilliant. A few minutes after the party started, Ron turned off all the light. It was Hermione and Harry’s cue to move. They moved all the table using magic and summoned guitar, a drum, and the mics they had prepared beforehand.

When the light was turned on, the three of them was ready to shake up the party.

(“So, this is why you reject my offer and become Harry’s date instead,” Viktor said.

Hermione blushed. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No, Hermione, thank you. That was a very beautiful performance.”)

.

.

“Harry,” Mr. Diggory said, his voice shaking. “Will you sing a song for my son?”

Harry did. In front of Cedric’s grave, Harry crouched down and he started to sing.

(He sang his first very original song. The sombering song of heaven and the requiem for the death.)

.

.

Lately, Harry’s songs turned darker. His songs were never really bright to begin with but now it was practically agonizing. It was the melody that came staright out of his mourning soul.

It wasn’t like Ron was any better nowadays but he hated these kind of mood. Somehow the way they performed affected the whole Gryffindor as well so they just couldn’t continue being so gloomy.

But Grammauld place, with all its creaky stair and screaming photos, didn’t really help.

“Why don’t you try to dance?” Ginny suddenly said one day, when they were in the middle of cleaning up the living room. She ran out of the room then came back with Ron’s radio. She pulled Harry’s hand. “Come on, Harry.”

“I don’t know how to dance,” Harry said, his voice small.

“I’ll teach you. Just follow the beat.”

(Two hours later, they were all still dancing full of energy, trying all kinds of song and music, the cleaning duty was totally forgotten. For Ron, it was like a whole new world.)

.

.

“You did that often lately,” Neville pointed out.

“Did what?” Hermione asked.

“Now whenever you hear music, your feet tapping againts the floor following the rythm,” Neville’s grin was wide and impossible. “Do you want to try dancing, Hermione?”

Hermione opened her mouth, before she could say anything, though, Harry suddenly appeared out of nowhere and said, “That’s a good idea, Neville.”

He offered his hand to Hermione. “Let’s dance, Hermione.”

Hermione felt like it had been a long time since he saw Harry’s eyes sparkling like that.

(What should be another regular meeting of Dumbledore’s Army turning to a party in a matters of minute.)

.

.

Harry didn’t sing for Sirius’ funeral. He couldn’t. It was the same feeling of despair whenever Dementor absorbed his happiness force.

(He wondered if he could ever be happy again. And when Ron told him that he would send lots of letter this summer, Hermione radiating worry beside him, Harry knew that the answer was yes.)

.

.

“Ron, you sing a lot of cheesy romantic songs nowadays,” Ginny frowned at him. “I don’t like it.”

Ron simply stuck his tongue at her.

(At nights, he secretly composed a jealousy-themed song. Jealousy was an ugly thing but it was better than the cheesy songs that he pretended to like just because Lavender liked the romantic type. He didn’t know that in another room, Hermione was exactly doing the same. Meanwhile, Harry who was wandering around the hall suddenly had his head full of love songs.)

.

.

“Harry, that’s a good song,” Hermione said. She shared a glance with Ron.

She could tell that he was worried too. Harry never wrote a bright spirit-filled songs before. But the song he just played using his favorite guitar was pratically exuding positive energy. There were colors, not just white and grey, and... a touch of love?

“Its title is Felix,” Harry said, beaming like a little kid.

“Oh,” Ron said. “That makes sense.”

The felix potion must have been really good for Harry to even write a song about it.

(Felix was the only happy song Harry ever made.)

.

.

Harry said he wasn’t going to attend Hogwart next year. Hermione and Ron said they would follow him everywhere.

The future was nowhere to be seen, but their dream was still there.

“We’ll definitely make a succesful music band,” Ron said. It sounded like a promise.

The train kept moving forward, as well as the fate of the world.

Harry missed Hogwart already.

(He missed the days when they just spent times composing song and playing guitar.)

.

.

Grammauld place brought lots of memory. “Guys,” Ron said. “Do you want to dance?”

(The dance was short. They were too mentally and phisically exhausted to keep dancing.)

.

.

“What do you mean you can’t compose song anymore?” Ron asked.

Hermione felt like sobbing. “I can’t, Ron!”

(After what Bellatrix did to her, it took her years to finally compose a song again.)

.

.

 _This is a long walk_ , Harry thought. He looked back to when Ron first excitedly ask him to show his notes. He thought of the days when Hermione would dragged both of them to the Room of Requirement and they would dance to their hearts content.

The thing was they might never be able to go back to that day.

They lost the spirit to dance and Hermione couldn’t even compose a song anymore.

“Now, Potter,” Voldemort taunted. “Will you sing a song for me?”

Harry did.

(He would sing for eternity.)

.

.

When Ron woke up, the world was mourning. They won the war but the sacrifices were too much for them to bear. The only thing that still holding him together after Fred’s death were the comforting presence of his best friends in either of his side.

“If we’re going to make a music idol band, we should do it right,” Harry suddenly said.

“What?” Ron asked, dumfounded.

“And I think we should disguise our name and face too. What do you think, Ron?” Hermione said.

Ron couldn’t believe it. The world barely passed a huge disaster and here they were, chatting as if what was left of Hogwart castle wasn’t next to them.

And yet, Ron found himself responding with rising optimism, “I know what you mean. It doesn’t feel right, does it? They’ll only see us as heroes instead of idols.”

(In the end, they decided to use their favorite colors and changed the band’s name into the Phoenix, as it would symbolize their undying hope.)

.

.

“The reporters are going crazy out there,” Ron muttered, his hands holding the newest edition of Daily Prophet.

“It couldn’t be helped,” Hermione sat down beside him. “After all, we announce out of nowhere that we will step down for a while.”

“But, it has been a month. I kinda expected them to quiet down after a week or so,” Ron set down the Prophet, then crouched down in front of her, hugging her stomach. “How are you feeling?”

Hermione giggled. “Why are you so anxious?”

“I am going to be a father. Of course, I am anxious.”

(After giving birth to her first child, Hermione was able to compose a song again. It was a soft song, not outstanding or anything, but both Ron and Harry were ecstatic to hear it.)

.

.

“Sing it again, Dad!” Albus said.

 Harry quirked a smile. “You want me to sing it again?”

“Yes! Sing it again for me, Dad!”

“Alright,” Harry flicked Al’s forehead. Then, he started singing.

( _Baby, even though the world is againts me, I will sing for eternity._

 _I will sing for me and you for eternity._ )

.

.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys, I am in a desperate need of money so I am selling my Harry Potter the half-blood prince book. I am in a tight circumstance and wouldn't have sold it otherwise. It's an old book and has low quality paper, but it's still good and readable i suppose. if you're Indonesian and interested, I'll give you my contact. Thanks  
> (I sell it for five hundred thousand rupiahs but the price is still negotiable)


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